You On Line

There are times
When I feel
So very much alone,
Frustrated
And wanting you
By my side.

We have talked a lot,
You and I,
Enough to know
That there is
Something there,
Though we never met.

I have found
That the remedy
For my loneliness
Lies in the words
That you say
Each time we connect.

And it doesn’t matter
Whether or not
The distance between us
Is great or small,
It does me good
Knowing that you are there.

The simple words you say
Alleviate the pain
Of feeling alone
And cause me
To appreciate
The beauty of being alive.

Why Poetry?

I write poetry because I can
And because I believe
That I have something to say
Worth saying.
Poetry allows me
To express myself,
To share my thoughts and ideas,
To clarify my thinking,
To play with language,
To examine my pretensions
To contemplate the meanings
I have assigned to things,
To reflect on the life I have lived
And to notice how
Time changes my view of things.
Poetry allows me
To search for nuggets of gold
Buried in my past
And to reveal
Whatever kernels of wisdom
I might have gained along the way.
It allows me to point out
The beauty I see,
To say what is so for me,
And to get at the essence
Of what it is to be human.

What Must It Be Like

Can you imagine
What it must be like
For a mail order bride?
The fears she must face
When she is leaving home,
The only place she has ever known,
To go to someplace strange
And to meet some man
From a far away land,
Who may treat her well
But then again, who may not.
How scary that must be!
Burdened with thoughts
That she may never see
Her family again,
The courage it must take,
To cast her fate
To the luck of the draw.
Will the man like her?
Will she like him?
They may have
Corresponded briefly
But what will he
Really be like?
She must trust
The hand of fate
With her life!
That can't be easy,
But sometimes it is
The only way out
Of the situations
And circumstances
They face back home.

Vacation Ordeal

When the kids were young
Travel was not a pleasure
And certainly not a vacation!
They didn’t seem to adapt well
To a change of environment
And were most vociferous
In their complaints.
They were two and three years old
When we went to Hawaii
With the ridiculous idea
Of having a vacation
And watching my sister get married.
They seemed bound and determined
To get their two cents worth in.
One or both of them
Were screaming and crying
At every single meal
During the entire ten days
We were there.
Such a lovely time we had
Developing a profound understanding
Of why earplugs were invented!

Nito

Nito is one of the neighborhood park dogs, a large and stately female mut, who lives off of handouts from the Central Park police. She entertains herself chasing lizards, frightening visitors, especially those on motorcycles, and wrestling with some of the pet dogs who visit the park on a daily basis.

She is a street urchin, skilled at crossing busy lanes of traffic to and from the park, adept at survival in a sometimes hostile world, able to hold her own and make her presence known when she sees fit. She has an acute eye for character among the park visitors, sizing them up in an instant, knowing almost instinctively who to trust and who to avoid.

She can curry favor with the best of them, ingratiating herself to the kinder souls who cross her path. Nito loves to be petted by those brave enough to do so, and will frequently follow that person home in the hopes of persuading them to take her in, yet there is a street roughness about her that has people ultimately turn her away.

She is young and full of play, eager for a friendly game of tag or a wrestling match with the other park dogs. Like most young dogs, she has learned the art of the gentle bite so that nobody gets hurt during their rough housing, and she readily adjusts the intensity of the play to that of her playmates. This works well for some of the other dogs are little more than puppies, and are easily scared off by too much aggression.

Though Nito loves the unfettered freedom and openness of life in Central Park, she clearly envies the dogs that have masters who take care of them, and take them for walks in the park. She would happily trade her freedom to anyone willing to do the same for her, though in reality, many of the visiting dogs envy her as well.

Her and Lilly, my friend’s Golden Retriever, have become best friends, and frequently accompany each other on our walks throughout the park. They can easy spend an entire day playing together, and following Lilly’s lead, both will jump into one of the many fountains at the park to refresh themselves when they get tired or overheated from the rigors of play.

Actually, I wish I could bring Nito home. The two of them certainly go well together, but it isn’t really my place, and an extra dog might not go over so well. I think I could curb the rough edges of Nito if she were mine, but I am only an extended visitor, so I will have to leave her to the care of the Park Police.

The police apparently use the dogs like Nito to help patrol the park and keep the drunks and drug users away. The dogs have an uncanny sense of who is sober, and who is not, and have a rather loud way of letting the police know when someone doesn’t belong there.

The Kurdish Freedom Fighter

She was young,
Barely twenty years old,
And quite attractive
With her long silky, black hair
That hung down to her waist,
But what set her apart
Was her feisty spirit
And the flash of her eyes,
As she talked about
The Kurdish people.
She took great pride
In her people’s nobility,
But bristled with anger
At the Turkish government,
And the capriciousness
Of its policies.
The Kurdish people need
Their own country,
Free from the Turks,
Where they can speak
Their own language,
She declared.
She had numerous relatives
Who had been killed
By the PKK insurgents,
Yet she was still proud
Of the others who had joined
Their resistance.
She was newly married
To a man from
Northern Europe,
And the paperwork
Was being processed
For her visa,
And she was excited
To be leaving Turkey.
She was full of fight and fury,
And single minded
Contempt for this country,
Thinking that
It would somehow
Be better where
She was going,
But I cautioned her
That I too was a rebel
At her age,
And everywhere I went,
The battle followed me.
It was only later
That I was able
To make peace with the world
Exactly as it is,
And exactly as it isn’t.
She is at war
With the world,
Not just Turkey,
And she will always
Be running from
One skirmish or another
Until the day
She finally makes peace
With the world.
Yes, it is as if
I was watching myself
Years before,
Pugnaciously confronting
The obvious injustices
And the inequities of life.

Uncle George

Uncle George
Is long gone now,
But while he lived,
He flavored
My childhood
With his presence
And stoked the fires
Of my curiosity.
My father and him
Shared a passion
For fishing,
But Uncle George
Was much more than
Just a fisherman.
He had invented
Several types of
Rods and reels
Along with
A wide variety
Of fishing lures.
He apparently earned
Some royalties
From his inventions,
But largely lived off
Aunt Dofeen’s income
And never had a job.
He had a penchant
For unexpectedly
Showing up with
Odd creatures
Like the live octopus
Which he allowed
To squirm around
On the floor.
I never knew
What to expect
When he came over,
But he made sure
To always bring
Something to share.
Occasionally it would be
A Yellow Fin Tuna
He had caught
Deep sea fishing
Which we would than
Have for dinner,
And one time,
He brought
A couple lobsters
For dinner.
Uncle George
Had a series
Of aviaries
Where he raised
Canaries, finches
And love birds,
And he would
From time to time
Bring one of them
For us to keep.
Being a naturalist,
His back yard
Was a child’s paradise.
In addition to the birds,
He maintained
A lush tropical garden
With meandering footpaths
Surrounding a pond
Full of large goldfish
That I could hand feed.
My Aunt Dofeen and him
Were quite a pair,
And they used to bicker
Over the stupidest things
Like which end of a loaf
Of bread to open.
Uncle George was supposedly
Distantly related
To the Swedish monarchy,
And somehow or another
Aunt Dofeen tied herself
To English royalty,
And they used to argue
Over which claim
To royalty was superior.
You would have to
Have known Aunt Dofeen
To understand
How dubious her
Claim to royalty was.
She just didn’t fit
The stodgy English
Royal mold at all,
And if she was
Somehow related,
Her brother,
Who was my father,
Certainly wasn’t!
Uncle George
On the other hand,
Was always a dapper dresser,
And carried himself
With the dignity
Befitting someone
Of royal blood,
At least in our eyes.
He was the family aristocrat,
A man who
Deemed himself
Above manual labor.
There was something
Slightly odd
And a bit mysterious
About Uncle George,
But I didn’t ponder such things
As a child.
I heard plenty of stories though,
And I am not sure
Which, if any, of them
Were true.
I was told that he was
A draft dodger
From World War One,
That he hid out in Cuba
During the war.
Nonetheless,
He stoked the flames
Of my childhood curiosity
With his indomitable spirit,
Sophisticated airs,
Rouge independence,
And his obvious
Love of nature.
Sadly, after our family
Moved to Las Vegas,
Aunt Dofeen and him
Went their separate ways,
And he later died
A very lonely old man
With no one there
To hear his stories
Or enjoy his antics.

Trish

I am always intrigued
By people who overcome
Tremendous obstacles in their lives
To accomplish great things.
Trish is one of those people.
She caught my eye
In Toastmasters
A few years back
When she did a demonstration
Of the West Coast Swing.
She is a stunning redheaded beauty
Whose poise and grace on the floor,
Was accented by
The dance outfit she wore.
What I didn’t know at the time
Was that only a few years before,
She was barely able to walk.
She had tripped
Over a vacuum hose in her house,
Fallen and broken her hip.
The damage so severe
That the doctors told her
That she would never walk again,
But they didn’t take into account
The force of her determination!
She was eventually able
To walk with a cane,
But that wasn’t enough for her.
She took up dancing
As a form of physical therapy,
And it took her three years of hard work
Before she could cross
Her left leg over her right.
Nevertheless, she kept at it
And eventually went on to compete in
National dance competition.
I suppose every person
Who has the gumption to excel
Overcomes some element of adversity
To do so,
But I am still inspired
Each time I witness it.

The World I See

Every so often
I have to remind myself
That the world I see
On a day to day basis
Is only the tinniest corner
Of the world in which I live.
Even within the city
In which I reside,
The circle in which I travel
Is infinitesimally small,
And unrepresentative
Of the city as a whole.
There was a time
When it seemed
That almost everyone I met
Was an engineer
Or a geologist.
Even the secretaries
And draftsmen
Had college degrees.
I got to thinking that
Everybody had a degree!
Then one day
I took my family
Over to a local gravel pit
For a swim,
And the people we met there
Were definitely not
College educated,
And their language
Wasn’t at all like
The English I knew.
Just when I get used to
Seeing the world
A certain way,
Something invariably occurs
That doesn’t quite fit
The image I have of life,
And I will be reminded
Of how little of the world
I actually see.
The Fourth of July
Is a prime example.
Every time I go out
To watch the fireworks display
At the local college,
I encounter multitudes of people
I have never seen before
And will most likely
Never see again.
Where do they all come from?
I could crisscross our town
Ten-thousand times in a year
And never encounter
A one of them!
Where do they all hide?
Is my circle really
That restrictive?
It seems that I need to circulate more
In circles other than my own.

The Wood Carver

He has become a local icon
After seventeen years
In his spot under the trees
On the outskirts
Of the town of Casitas Springs.
Five days a week
He is out there on Route 33
Sawing up logs
Making eagles, bears, dolphins
And just about anything wood
That someone might want.
His only tool is a chain saw.
It started out as a hobby
But when he retired
After 28 years of driving trucks
On only $117.50 a month
He decided to work a little harder
In order to make a living
For his wife and himself.
His style has changed a bit
Over the years
And sometimes he looks back
At some of the things he did before
And is a little embarrassed
But he keeps working at it,
And every now and then
Will take a day off and go fishing.
He is a fairly happy soul
Doing what he wants
In his own time
And in his own way
In his spot under the trees.

The Tree Fort

I was the oldest of four
And I didn’t get along
With my siblings,
Strange as that might seem!

About the only way
That I could get away from them
Was up in a tree fort
That I personally built for that purpose.

We had a giant Eucalyptus tree
In back of our yard in San Diego
Wedged in a corner of our fence
With an eight foot diameter trunk.

I remember a number of times
When a branch the size of a normal tree
Would come tumbling down
Crashing into our yard.

The mighty Eucalyptus is a brittle tree
And ours was topped off
Several times over the years
Only to grow back.

I started out my fort
At fence top level
Leaving the ground level
For my pesky siblings.

I built the fort out of
Lumber scavenged from the neighborhood,
A hodgepodge of two-by-fours
And plywood that I nailed together.





Whenever my younger brother
Learned how to climb up,
I would build another floor
More difficult to get to than the last.

There was a neighbor carpenter
Who wanted to lend a hand
But my father said no
Out of concern for cost.

The guy was probably worried
About my safety up there,
And I am sure that he didn’t understand
The intention of my design.

The construction went on for years
And when we finally moved,
My fort was eight stories high,
A monument to sibling rivalry!

Many years later
I went back with my kids
To show them where I grew up
But the tree and fort were gone!

Though it is no longer physically there,
The old fort remains inside my head,
Part of the richness of my life
And the flavor of my youth!

The Toxic Carrot

Sometimes we act like
A donkey who can be led
By the carrot on a string
Held in front of his nose.
No matter how hard we try,
Nor how fast we run,
The carrot remains dangling there
Just beyond our reach.
It is the illusive carrot
That has us mindlessly plod
Down the path we are on
Oblivious to where it takes us.
It may be the illusion of security,
Or the feeling
Of being safe and protected
That keeps us going.
Occasionally we may even
Get a taste of
The carrot we sought,
Just enough
To wet our appetite,
But seldom enough
To quench our thirst
Or satisfy our hunger,
And so we plod onward,
Forever striving
To get that silly carrot,
Oblivious to where we going.

The Spring of 83

I had been working
In the mining industry
For about three years,
Designing and evaluating
Earth dams around the world.

I was proud of the work I did
And particularly the field people
I had the opportunity to work with.
Most of them were seasoned veterans
With as much as 35 years experience each.

They were people who had worked
In almost every corner of the globe,
A fascinating bunch of characters
Who knew how to get things done
Under extremely adverse conditions.

They knew construction inside out.
They were some of the most
Experienced field engineers I ever encountered.
They each had a keen sense of the practical
And could overcome any challenge but one.

In the Spring of 1983
The mining industry
Came to a screeching halt
And the veterans and I
Were let go.

I was young and could
Quickly make a transition
But nobody seemed to want these men
Who had served so long
And knew so much.

As far as I was concerned
They were a national treasure,
Yet tragic as it may seem,
Half of them died from heart attacks
Within the next six months.

That experience left me
With a bitter aftertaste
For they were my heroes
And I saw how easily they were discarded
Once they were no longer needed.

The Power of One

There was a young boy,
Only nine years old,
Who wanted to make
A difference in the world.

He saw homeless kids
On the news
And in the streets,
And he wondered what he could do.

He assumed that most of them
Had a home at one time,
So he decided to interview them
To find out what it was like for them.

In a couple of days
That boy interviewed
Over a hundred homeless kids
Asking them what they missed most.

Now imagine if that were
You or me,
It might have taken us
A year or more.

What that boy found
Might surprise you a bit,
But his survey revealed peanut butter
Was what those kids missed most!

He decided to collect
Peanut butter for the homeless kids,
And quickly earned the title,
“The Peanut Butter Kid!”

He told his teacher
About his project
And got permission
To share it with the class.

There were thirty other children in the class
And the next day
Twenty-nine of them
Brought jars of peanut butter.

He had a talk
With the lone holdout,
And the following day
That kid brought two jars.

The school principal
Heard about the project
And invited the boy
To present it to the school assembly.

The school district heard about that
And he was invited
To present his project
To each school in the district.

That nine year old boy
Collected over
20,000 jars of peanut butter
For distribution to the homeless kids.

That may not have solved
The homeless problem,
But it sure points out
The power of one!

If he could do that
Then what can you or I do
Who are not of such
Apparently limited means?

The Money Conversation

There is a conversation
Most of us seem to have
About a scarcity of money,
The cruelty of our fate,
And the limitations we face.

We act as if our options
Are restricted
By the amount of money we have,
Instead of
The creativity of our mind!

We become intimidated
And feel inferior
To those of obvious wealth,
Making up stories
To justify our lowly status.

On the surface
We clearly realize
That having
Or not having money
Doesn’t make a person.

It seems we act
On a deeper level
From another reality
That separates us
From those who have more.

The reality is
That we will do
Whatever we set our minds to do
Whether we have
Money or not.

It is our conversation of scarcity
That leaves us bankrupt!

The Luxury of a Bath

Normally I’m a shower kind of guy,
But once in a while
If I’m really beat,
Or if I have been
On a long and arduous trip,
I like to soak
And ease my tired body.

The very best baths I ever had
Were in Bangkok, Thailand
After journeying 36 hours straight
On the train from Yala.
I would get a sponge bath
Capped off with a massage
And I could sleep like a baby after that.

A bath is awesome gift to myself
Whenever I am sick.
Once when I had the flu,
I rented a room
That had a Jacuzzi inside
And I soaked in that thing
All night long.

I like hot springs too
Where I can alternate
Between hot and cold
And when I am done,
I’ll get a massage,
Then conclude the day
At the finest restaurant in town.

I think someday
I’ll get a place
With a good sized tub
And a woman
Who likes to soak,
And every now and then
I will ease on in and join her.

The Developer's Dream

It is a developer’s dream.
A large piece of land,
Vacant and available,
And you see a possibility
Of providing homes
In which people can live,
And if you are lucky
Making some money
In the process.

So you begin to do your homework,
Assessing the potential costs,
Making the most of the land,
Measuring the impacts,
Predicting how long it will take,
Estimating the cost per home,
And designing a place
That a family would want to live
And proudly call their home.

You carefully evaluate the feasibility,
Determining what you can afford to do
And what you can’t.
If the economics are good,
You will present your plan
For governmental review
In the hopes of getting
A Development Agreement
Establishing conditions under which you can build.

Then the project comes up for public review
And you discover a hornet’s nest
Of people with varied interests
Other than your own,
Sometimes with irrational fears,
But you have to deal with them
One by one,
Realizing that your dream
May not be accepted.

Once you have cleared that hurdle,
You can finally get your approval to build.
Then you get your financing arranged.
You may have spent years
In planning and preparation,
And now you are ready
For construction to begin.
You still have the challenge
Of keeping on schedule and under budget.

It is always a balancing act,
Trying to do the most
With the money you have,
Keeping the expenses down.
Only after the homes are sold
Is there income coming in.
Any further delay could affect
Whatever profit there might be
After all was said and done.

It is often a hard fought battle
To pursue a development dream,
And it is a part of the reason
That the cost of new homes
Keep going up and up.
After you are done
You sometimes wonder
If it is really worth it,
But some people relish that challenge.

The Cost of Looking Good

She’s a beautiful lady
With long, silky hair,
Always dressed to the hilt
With colors that dazzle
Complementing her Barbie Doll figure,
And she works so hard
To maintain that physique,
And keep up her image.

She is starting to discover
The cost of her emphasis
On looking good.
Everything she does
And everything she says
Is prefaced with the thoughts
How will this appear?
What will others think?

It robs her of her spontaneity,
And her ability
To speak her mind,
To be authentic
And to be vulnerable.
Thus what it really costs
Is her relationship
To the world.

Beneath that flashy façade
Lies a soul
That needs to be expressed
That cries out
For another heart to meet,
To make itself known,
To connect with another’s spirit
Such that she is not alone.

Symptoms of Impossibility

There are plenty of symptoms
That let us know
When we are not present
To the possibility of life.
When we find ourselves
Assessing our own conversation,
Insisting on being right
While making the other wrong,
Feeling under siege
And misunderstood,
When the world appears a hostile place,
And it seems we are under attack
From every side,
When we want to roll up
In a ball and hide,
And when we operate from fear
With a sense of pending doom,
Then impossibility
Is raising its ugly head.

Strawberry Fields

Prominent among
The many blessings
I have had in my life,
Are all the wild
And crazy times
My wife, Cecilia, and I
Had together.
I never will forget
How much fun
We used to have
Doing our annual pilgrimage
To the U-Pick
Strawberry fields
Back in Miami, Florida.
We were charged
By the pound
For any berries
We collected,
But they neglected
To weight us
Before and after
Our expedition.
We probably eat
Four berries
For every one saved.
Those fresh strawberries
Were so irresistibly
Sweet and juicy.
By the time we finished,
We had gorged ourselves silly,
Consuming enough berries
To last us a year.
The pathetic berries saved
Would languish
In our refrigerator,
Collecting mold,
Until someone
Threw them out.
We could easily
Have returned
To the scales
Empty handed
After our day
In the fields,
But that would have violated
Our sense of propriety.

Standing by the Door

I see you standing by the door,
A picture of indecision,
Not sure whether
You are coming
Or you’re going,
Looking kind of lost
And maybe a little lonely,
And my heart
Goes out to you
Because I’ve been there myself.
I know what it is like
Wanting more than anything
To find someone else,
But the more we seem to want it
The harder it is to find.

Rude Awakening

Every now and then
When driving long distance
I will get really tired
And pull into a rest stop
Or a convenient parking lot
To get a little sleep.
Invariably I will wake up
And for a brief instant
Forget where I am.
So many times
I will look out to see
A light pole
Or another car
And jam on the brake
Thinking that I am still driving.
That rude awakening
Is generally enough
To keep me wide awake
For the next couple hours.

Artistic Insight

Whether I am a painter,
A writer, or a photographer,
All I’m really doing
Is capturing the beauty I see
In a way it can be shared
With the rest of the world.
My medium could be
Words, paint or pictures,
For any of them
Can be used
To portray the human condition,
And to acknowledge
That which I see as
Intrinsically beautiful.
It’s more than just style,
Or the colors I use,
That lend character
The work I do,
For my work is a window
To my soul,
And reflects as much of me
As it does
Whatever I am focused on.

Beyond Our Control

It’s a part of being human
To believe that events
Outside of ourselves
Control our fate,
As if we have no power
To have it be
Any other way than
The way it is.
Do we really want to believe
That the alignment of
The stars and the moon
Conspired against us
The day we were born,
Foretelling a future
Against which we have
No defenses?
Who is that person
Who determines our path?
If it’s not ourselves,
Who do we blame?
Are we the innocent victim
Of circumstances
We paint ourselves to be,
Or more likely,
Are we simply abdicating power
Over our actions
And our reactions
With the words we use,
And the way we think.
I hear it so often,
I almost believe it is true,
Expressions like
“He made me mad!”
Or “She makes me angry!”
But who are we implying
Was in the driver’s seat
When our reaction
Was determined?
Apparently not us!
We may look out
And see an overcast sky,
Then allow the resulting gloom
To color our day
And maybe our week.
We may spill a cup of coffee,
And have it stain our attitude.
We may feel
The pressure of time
And be in such a rush
That we make
Foolish mistakes,
But if we had planned
Just a little better,
Or left a few minutes earlier,
Might we have been
More in control of the pace.
Can we learn to take
Varied circumstances in stride,
And not let them
Ruffle our feathers.
Why is it that sometimes
We don’t even feel like
We have time to breathe,
Or even go to the bathroom
When we need to?
Isn’t it us who creates
The sense of the urgency,
The necessity
Of acting in such haste.
We are given
The ability to choose
How to respond
To whatever we experience.
It is completely our choice.
Whether we are happy or sad,
Relaxed or tense,
Alert or tired and indifferent,
We are the cause.
Our sense of involuntary reaction
Is a lie we tell ourselves
Which robs us of our ability
To live a life we choose.

Rainbow Bridge Park

In the City of Ventura
Lies a very special park,
Made just for kids,
A complex maze
Of wooded structures
That I helped build.
Up until that point
I had never been involved
In any community activities,
But someone had a vision
Of the playground complete
At no cost to the town.
They simply sold a bunch of us
On the idea
Of creating this thing,
And I, like hundreds of others,
Volunteered to do the work.
We were masterfully coordinated,
Each handling a myriad of jobs.
Sometimes I would be on the saw
And other times carrying lumber,
Occasionally bolting the wood together
And other times
I would be trimming bolts,
Making sure that no child
Could get hurt playing
In, around, over, under or through
The fort we built.
There was a spirit there
That took hold of us all
And it dawned on me
That was what it must have been like
During the barn raisings
In days of old.
I was in awe
Of the spirit generated.
If that spirit could be tapped for a year
Practically the whole city
Could be rebuilt from scratch.
As it was, it took us
Just three days
To complete the project.
There were bankers and lawyers,
Stock brokers and secretaries,
Students and parents alike,
A whole community of volunteers
Acting in unison.
Those of us who participated
In the Rainbow Bridge Project
Got our lives out of what we did.

Radient One

Some women develop
An absolute radiance
During the later stages
Of pregnancy.
They seem so totally at peace
With the world,
Content with being a mother,
Fulfilled in every sense.
There is a glow about them
That anyone can see,
And who would not be touched
By such luminescent beauty.
There was such a girl
In the child birthing class
That Cecilia and I took
Who captivate us both in awe
With her gentle spirit
And the serenity of her smile.
Her name was Becky,
And that is where
We got the name
For our first child.

Professor of Propriety

It’s a spring ritual,
Ducks in the heat of passion
And college students too,
Only the students tend
To keep it indoors.
It was that time of year
And a pair of ducks
Were doing their thing
In the middle of the sidewalk
On the university campus.
There were many smiling faces
As the students gave room
To the frolicking birds
Until an old gray-haired professor
Hobbling along on his cane
Happened upon those birds
And indignantly disturbed their lovemaking
With pokes from his cane
As if they were somehow violating
Campus propriety!

Poetry for Me

I suppose there are
Countless purposes
For writing poetry
But just for the record
And maybe only for this moment
Here are mine.

I feel that I have something to say
Worth saying
And poetry is the way to do it
Using words
Of wit and wisdom
Colored by my passion.

My poetry is designed
To point out the simplicity of life
The principles by which I live
The values I hold,
The little things that make up my day
And the beauty of being alive.

Most of my poems come
From conversations I had,
And in each conversation
There was a distinction made,
The essence of which
I try to encapsulate in a poem.

My poems may be a reflection of the past
My recollection of the way things were
A bit of nostalgia,
A search for meaning,
A trip down memory lane,
Or a tale of poignant adventure.

There is a beauty I see
In the life I have lived
That I didn't necessarily see
When the events actually happened.
Through poetry my interpretation of events
Has become subject to change.

My poetry is an attempt
To clarify my thoughts,
To examine my pretensions,
As well as
My understanding
Of what it is to be human.

As a poet
I am committed to share
My vision of life
In such a way
That others can see
That life is the same for them too!

If I have done my job well
Then each poem will
Unquestionably come straight from the heart
Expressing a love for life
With simple words
To which anyone can relate.

Oblivious to Her Charm

Such a beautiful lady,
With no sense of
The heads she turns,
Feeling all alone
And unappreciated,
Wishing she could
Meet just one guy
Who would hold
Her in his arms,
When every guy
She meets wishes he
Could hold her too!

Mama and the Bull

Our kids grew up hearing
The tale of
Mama and the bull,
And were witnesses
To the story’s evolution
Over time.
The story never sounded
The same twice,
At least when she told it,
But I am here
To set the record straight.
During our trip
Around England
Back in the summer of 78,
My wife, Cecilia, and I
Spotted a small lake
That was stunningly beautiful,
So I stopped
To check it out.
We crossed a pasture
That led down to
A row of trees
Just this side of the lake.
Once we got to the trees,
We looked back
And noticed two bulls
At the far end of the pasture
We had just crossed.
They had apparently
Watched us as we
Traversed their territory.
The younger of the two
Adopted a belligerent attitude
About our intrusion,
And commenced to snorting
And pawing the ground.
I, like an idiot,
Did the same back at him
And the bull took that
As a direct challenge
To his authority
As well as his bullhood.
He charged our position
Just as we bolted
For the fence.
We were almost there
When Cecilia panicked
And froze in place
Crying “Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!”
So I had to carry her
The rest of the way.
Thereafter Cecilia tried
To rationalize her paralysis,
Insinuating that the bull
Wouldn’t have attacked
A stationary target,
But I figure
It would have been
A rather poor time
To test that theory.
Somehow with each
Telling of the tale,
Cecilia got braver
And the bull got tamer,
Until the last versions
I heard had her putting
Flowers in its nose.
Now the bull did get close,
But nowhere near that close.

Father Missing

Her mother died
Giving birth to her,
And her father,
In his anguish,
And his pain,
Fled the hospital
And was never
Seen again.
He never even saw
His daughter,
And never knew
She needed his love
As much as
He needed hers.
She grew up
To be a beautiful
Young woman
In the care of her
Maternal grandparents,
But no matter
How much they loved
And cared for her,
She still felt the sting
Of a father
Who never loved her
Or even held her.
She tried desperately
To find him years later,
But never could,
And in all probability,
He drowned himself in drink,
Never recovering from
The love he lost
When he lost his wife.
Now she is a young woman
Who tells herself
She has dealt with
All of that,
That she has
Reconciled herself
To the fact
That her father
Never loved her,
And now she searches
For a man who will
Love her as much as
She needs to be loved.
The only challenge is
A poisoned question lingers
In the back of her mind.
If her own father
Could not love her,
Then how could anyone else?
Only if she chooses
To interpret the love
He must have had
For her mother,
As the same love
He had for her,
Will she ever be free
To experience the love
Another man has to give.

Jet Ski Adventure

Over in Kaneohe Bay,
On the opposite side of Oahu
From the City of Honolulu,
Is a place where
You can rent jet skis,
Something I always wanted to do.

Jet skiing alone isn’t
The wisest thing to do
As I was to find out,
But nobody else
Was willing or able
To go that day.

I was over in Hawaii
Doing a construction project,
Pulling out underground fuel tanks
From one of the military bases there,
Playing environmental engineer
In the middle of paradise.

I would like to have taken
My youngest daughter,
Ruby, with me,
But she was back home
In Ventura
Going to school.

Ruby would have enjoyed the speed!
She inherited a bit of my
Genetic wild streak
Which can overpower
Any sense of caution
That her mother contributed.

I didn’t know when
I might get to jet ski again,
Especially in someplace like Hawaii,
So I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
Even though I would have
Much rather done it with someone else.

I went out to where
The surf was breaking,
Where I could charge
Into and through the waves,
Then circle back jetting over top,
Going airborne.

I also cruised around the bay
Watching sea turtles
Pop their heads out
Trying to see what I was doing.
Those things can move
Amazingly fast in the water.

I was initially a little concerned
That I might hit
One of the turtles
But they always disappeared
In the nick of time
In spite of their gigantic size.

I even slowed down a while
To watch the sea life
Around the shallow coral reefs.
The water was very clear
And I could see
An enormous variety of fish.

I had been cruising around
For a few hours
And wore myself out
More than I realized,
And managed to fall off the Jet Ski
After assaulting one of the waves.

The Jet Ski was equipped
With a ripcord
To kill the engine
In case I fell off,
But somehow the safety feature
Didn’t work in that case.

It got caught in the seat
Leaving the engine running
And me floating in the bay
A couple miles out,
While the Jet Ski kept going
In wider and wider circles.

I wore myself out even more
Trying to intercept
One of those circles
To catch the machine,
But it didn’t seem
To want to be caught.

I watched in alarm
As that wayward machine
Circled the bay
With a mind of its own
Coming perilously close to the rocks
Before heading back out towards me.

I had almost given up
And had begun swimming
Back to shore
When that crazy machine
Finally came within reach
And I was able to grab it.

By that time
I was so worn out
That it took me another
Half hour or so
To climb back on
That fool machine.

Now I love jet skiing
And I love the feel of speed
But I will certainly
Never try it alone again
And I will definitely test that cord
Next time before I go.

Inspired by Devotion

At a time when I needed inspiration,
I met a young girl,
Beautiful by almost any standards,
Probably no more than twenty-two
Whose boyfriend was badly injured
In an auto wreck two months before.
The doctors don’t know
If he will ever walk again.
She told me how up until that point
She more or less drifted through life
Trying to find her path,
But as a result of that accident,
Discovered physical therapy
And a purpose for her life.
I shutter to think of the difficulties
She will likely encounter,
But such devotion
Is an inspiration to me,
And who can predict,
With her motivation,
How many lives she will touch,
And how many injured bodies
She might heal.
It seems the nature of life.
Behind every tragic event,
Someone discovers themselves
And the power of love.

In Our Heads

One aspect of being human
Is how we tend to
Dwell inside our heads,
Conjuring up interpretations
Of everything we see,
Dreaming up fantasies,
Most of which, fortunately,
Never happen.
We worrying over
All the if scenarios,
Imagining what could
Go wrong,
Entertaining fears
In countless forms.
We ponder the meanings
Of things said,
Wondering what they
Were really saying
Between the lines.
We spook ourselves silly
With internal conversations
That end up in
Shouting matches
Between the two sides
Of our brains.
We argue with ourselves
Over which way to go,
And generate conversations
That disempower us,
Belittling our efforts.
We are experts at
Nurturing some past wrong
Or perceived transgression
While plotting our revenge.
The head is a dangerous neighborhood,
And no place to hang out.
There are no friends there
And lots of dead ends.

High Beam Madness

I was cutting through Kansas
On one of the long straight highways
That seemed to go on forever.
I had been driving a while
And it must have been about midnight
When I see some fool
Way down the road
Coming in my direction
With a single powerful high beam
So I flashed him a couple of times
With my high beams
But he just kept coming.
I was getting a little upset
And even a bit concerned
When it became obvious
That he was going to pass me
On my right hand side.
It wasn’t until then that I realized
It was a train that I had been flashing
Running on tracks parallel to the road.

Good Morning World

Good morning world!
It’s a new day arising!
Wipe the sleep out of your eyes!
Rise and Shine!
Stretch a little!
Get your body into action!
Jump into the shower,
Then get dressed for the day!
Drink that cup of coffee if you will,
Read the morning paper,
Grab a bite to eat,
And you are off and running.
The air is crisp and clean
After the midnight rain.
Mr. Jones has already left for work
And Mrs. Smith is yelling at the kids.
Some things never change,
But it is a new day
An opportunity to learn a thing or two,
And possibly vary the usual pattern,
To meet someone new,
To make a difference in the world,
So seize the day
And make the most of it.

Gas in Class

As my two daughters
Progressed through school
They had many different teachers
And some were
More different than others.
There was one
Whom they both had
Who would face the board
And speak from the rear
And then turn around
And defensively say
“It is only natural!”
I suppose he was
More natural than most
And whether it was instinct
Or just plain out stink,
He used this talent
To entertain each daughter
For a solid year!

Four Leaf Clovers

It is an Irish tradition, I think
And I’m Irish,
Well whatever the excuse,
Often when I come upon
A patch of clover,
I will spend a moment or two
Searching for the elusive
Four leaf clover,
The good luck charm
Of popular belief.

I would occasionally find one
And consider myself lucky
Until one day I discovered
An isolated patch
In my own front yard
Down in San Diego.
Almost every single clover
Was of the four leaf kind
And a few even had five leaves.
It was a genuine freak of nature.

I have never seen anything like it
Before or since,
But I nearly picked
That poor plant clean
Preserving those lucky clovers
In scotch tape.
Every now and then
I find one of those clovers
Stuck in an old book somewhere
Almost forty years later.

Now I don’t know if those
Clovers really work or not,
But I will tell you this,
I have gotten lucky
A time or two
In the last forty years,
So maybe they did their part.
The little patch
Didn’t fare so well, however,
Or maybe I stole all its luck!

The Frustrating Search

She is a headstrong,
Passionate girl,
On a quest to find
The man she knows
Is meant for her,
But she isn’t happy
With any of the men
She chances to meet.
She still possesses
All her youthful
Charm and beauty,
But there is
An impatience setting in,
A frustration
That the search is taking
Longer than it should.
She has had her share
Of disappointments,
But she still clings to
Her youthful fantasies,
Steadfastly refusing
To relinquish the dream
A finding a man
Who is truly interested
In raising a family,
One who will love
And cherish her
Through thick and thin,
In good times,
As well as bad.
She has so much love to give,
If the right man came along,
And she is bound
And determined
To search far and wide
Until she finds him.

Communal Theory

There is a theory I hold
To be a simple truth
That within any community
Or any group of people
Are the answers to the challenges
Faced by that community.
There is no need
To seek distant aid
When all that is required
Is to mobilize the resources
There at hand.
I have seen the price paid
Countless times
Of people thinking
That no solution was possible
Or that it has to come
From someplace far away.
The solution is here and now,
It is you and me.

Chasing Opportunity

I am a dreamer
Who has chased
Countless dreams
And will do so again.
I seldom worked a normal job
With a fixed salary,
Or a definable pay scale.
I have struggled
As a consequence,
Sometimes making a lot,
And often very little,
Yet it was a sacrifice
That I was willing to make.
Everything I pursued
Contained an opportunity
For something big,
And although they often failed
To materialize as I envisioned,
I never stopped
Shooting for the moon.
I never accepted
A settle-for-life
With a future secured.
Maybe that is what others want,
Or think they want,
But that is not for me.
I am willing to work very hard,
To risk everything I have
For any opportunity
I perceive as real.

Blessings

I must remember
To count my blessings,
For though things
Could have been better,
They could easily have been
Far worse.
Who would I have become
Without the challenges
I begrudgingly faced?
How strong would I be
Had I not had to portage
The weight of my past?
How could I appreciate
The beauty of love
Had I never been without?
How would I know
The miracle of a smile
Had I not
Survived so many frowns?
Where would I be
If I had given up hope
Or lost my dream?
Yes, I must remember
To count my blessings
Each and every day,
No matter what difficulty I may face.

Being Unstoppable

Some of us
When we get a notion
In our head,
Just won’t be stopped.
We will keep on going
Long after anyone else
Would have given up.

If a roadblock appears
In one direction,
Then we will take another,
Reinforced with
An inner faith
That there is always a way
To get the job done.

There is a determination to prevail,
A dedication to action,
An invulnerability to No!
A willingness to do
Whatever it takes,
And the strength to continue
Long after others have stopped.

Anything is possible
For those of us with the guts
And the ability to maintain our faith.
We can move mountains
If we think we can.
We can conquer the world
If we just persevere.

We are bound to win
If we just keep going.
It can usually be said
Of our successes,
That we swam against the tide
With a vision others couldn’t see
And we just kept swimming.

We aren’t the ones who insist
On pounding our head against the wall
In useless frustration.
We step back and find a way
Under, around, over or through
Without compromising our integrity
Or sacrificing our ideals.

We are inventive,
Flexible in our ways,
Creative in our methods,
Fixed in our focus,
Powerful in our resolution
And absolutely
Determined to succeed.

Being Sick

I always hated being sick,
And would get angry at my body
For giving out on me
And letting me down.
I never could accept
That part of being human
That had me catch
Whatever was going around.
Generally when I get sick
It is obvious that I failed
To take good care of myself
And simply wore myself down.
I am not one for taking drugs
To fight the symptoms
But neither am I one
Who likes languishing in bed.
It always seemed
That the doctor would say
Take these pills
And it will disappear in 3 to 4 days.
But if I didn’t take the medicine
Or heed his advice,
It still took three to four days
For me to shake that flu.
I know I have the tendency
To try to keep on going,
And to ignore the obvious,
That it takes time to mend.
During times like these
A steamy bowl of chicken soup
And a little love and care
Will go a long, long ways.
Still there is an old widower’s tale
That claims that I can’t get rid of my flu
Until I find someone to give it to,
So would you be a friend to me?

Aunt Dofeen

Her real name
Was Aunt Josephine,
But I couldn’t
Pronounce that
Back when I was young,
So I called her
“Aunt Dofeen”
And rest of the family
Simply followed suit.
She didn’t seem to mind.
She was a free spirit
If there ever was one,
A zany concoction
Of Southern aristocrat
And Western pioneer.
Aunt Dofeen was
An outrageous character,
As colorful
As they come.
There was nothing
Muted about her,
And she seldom hesitated
To speak her mind.
She must have
Chaffed terribly
Against the dictates
And relative drabness
Of mainland society.
The moment
She freed herself
From Uncle George,
She took flight
And headed for the tropics
Where her exuberance
And compulsive individuality
Were more the norm.
She discovered
The big Island
Of Hawaii,
And adopted it
As her new home.
She blended in
With the rest of
The fluorescent crowd
Taking the island by storm
And darn near
Conquering it.
What impressed me
The most about her
Was her determination
In the face of family
And circumstances
To dictate the terms
By which
She lived her life.
She had the courage
To do things
Her own way
No matter what
Anyone else thought.
She was crazy
Like a fox.

All the Best Intentions

It was a hot mid-summer day
And I am biking on the Ojai trail
In the uphill direction
When I came upon a young boy
Totally overheated,
Face bright red
From heat prostration.
He obviously needed to cool off
So I decided to play Good Samaritan
And took his water bottle
And poured it over his head.
The poor kid!
Unbeknownst to me
It was Gatorade!
Now he was not only hot,
But he was sticky too.
I think he learned a lesson,
To beware of that overzealous Samaritan,
The one with all the best intentions.

Greedy Fish

On the big island of Hawaii,
Next to White Sands Beach,
Lies a shallow lagoon
That is perfect for snorkeling.
Underwater visibility is exceptional
And countless fish
Of every neon color imaginable
Populate the coral reef.
The area is sheltered
From waves and currents
And is one of only
A few places on the island
Safe for almost anyone to swim.
A lot of people bring food
To feed the fish
Because the fish will come up
And eat right out of your hand.
I don’t imagine
That people food
Is all that good for the fish,
But they eat it anyway.
Some of the fish
Are more aggressive than others,
And will sometimes take matters
Into their own greedy fins
To get fed.
I had one fish steal
An entire loaf of bread
Which I was holding up
Out of the water
While I fed the other fish.
I never did get to see
Which one it was
That had the audacity
To do that.
It was gone in a flash.
I can just imagine
What the culprit
Looked like though!
It would be
An exceptionally corpulent one,
Bloated to the gills
With stolen handouts,
Sporting the shifty,
Devious eyes of a thief.
If you happen to see
Such a fish
Look out!

An Adventurous Meal

I have seldom been finicky
About food since I was a kid.
I learned to eat with the locals
When I lived overseas,
To eat whatever they ate,
And to survive
The occasional consequences.
I ran across quite a few
Not so daring travelers
Who refused to risk trying
Any unfamiliar food,
Or anything that had meat,
I would often see them
Wildly gesticulating
In spur of the moment
Sign language
Trying to convey
Complex cooking instructions
To some confused restaurateur.
I have learned to enjoy
Leaving it up to the cook
To prepare the dish
As he or she sees fit,
Or to order from a menu
Written in an alien tongue.
It’s a lottery of sorts
And I have no idea
What I might get
Other than an adventurous meal,
And I am seldom disappointed.

Absense of Sanity

There is something
About having a baby,
Especially when it is her first,
That drives
Young mothers bananas.
A perfectly rational lady,
If there is such a thing,
Has a maternal instinct
So incredibly strong,
Sanity often escapes her,
Especially when it has to do
With the welfare
Of her baby!
My wife, Cecilia,
Was a classic example.
She had delivered
And cared for
Numerous babies
While working as a nurse
In the Philippines.
You might have thought
She would have no trouble
Managing one of her own,
But nothing could been
Further from the truth.
Nothing she had done
Equipped her to deal with
The trauma of being a mom!
The instant the reality hit her
That this was her baby,
She became helplessly comical,
Completely overwhelmed
With instinctual devotion.
The least little cough,
The slightest sneeze,
Even a runny nose,
Was enough to send her
Into a total panic.
Traveling with a baby
Can be harrowing enough
Without having to do battle
With instinctual insanity.
When our oldest daughter
Was just three months old,
We took a trip to England
To visit her mother
And two of Cecilia’s sisters.
She was still
Far from the seasoned pro
She would someday become.
We had decided to tour
The English countryside
Southwest of London
And to visit Stonehenge.
More than anything,
We wanted to enjoy
A day off by ourselves.
We left Becky
In the able care
Of Cecilia’s mother,
And proceeded to drive off.
We later realized
That was the first time
Cecilia had been
Separated from Becky
Since we brought her
Home from the hospital.
We had been gone
Less than half a day
When Cecilia started
Crying hysterically
That she missed Becky,
So we had to rush
Back to London.
A short time later,
All of us, namely;
Cecilia, her mother,
Our daughter, Becky,
Her sister, Precy,
And myself,
Commenced circumnavigating
The back roads
Of England together
During one stop,
My wife got it into her head
That the baby formula
Had to be sterilized
For at least a half hour
Before it was safe for Becky.
I came into the room
And found the two of them
Totally concealed
In a women-made fog!
During a stopover
At a local farmhouse,
We placed Becky
And her bassinet
Upon a picnic table.
Our attention was diverted
For no more than
A minute or two,
Just long enough
For a flock
Of curious chickens
To collect around her.
Cecilia freaked out
When she saw the chickens
Examining Becky,
And screamed like a banshee
While charging to her rescue,
Scattering chickens
In every direction!
Things can be tough
When traveling with a baby,
Managing diapers and all.
It can be pretty stressful
For any new mom.
Cecilia was fit to be tied
And ready to start a revolution
When we discovered
The disposable diaper factory
Had gone on strike
And no more diapers
Could be found anywhere.
That was more than enough
English socialism for her.
For any first time mothers to be,
Don’t be alarmed.
You will invariably find yourself
Acting irrationally
No matter how logical and pragmatic
You might normally be.
Enjoy your temporary
Absence of sanity.
You will see the humor
In your experiences later,
And will become a motherhood pro
Before you know it.

A Walk on the Beach

It is an isolated beach
On the Oregon coast
And we are
The only ones there.

The sands are pristine
Untouched by footprints
Except our own
Before they are washed away.

There are driftwood logs,
Remnants of huge trees,
Washed up in the surf,
Embedded in the sand.

I photograph their wooded shapes
With you in varied poses
And I capture a sense of you,
The beauty and the beach.

The beach stretches for at least a mile
In either direction
Washed out of the surrounding cliffs
Creating a peaceful desolation.

We feel the cold wetness
At our feet
As we bare foot
Down the beach.

We wrap our arms
Around each other as we walk,
Not needing to say a word,
Just enjoying being together.

We stop to play in the sand
And build a sandcastle,
A monument only intended to last
Until the surf washes it away.

We climb higher up on the beach
Away from the water
And claim a sandy lookout
From which we can watch and listen.

We lie there side by side,
Our hearts on fire
And our bodies warmed
By the sun and each other.

We listen to the quiet
Of the gentle ocean waves,
Enjoying the solitude
As well as the peace within.

And after a while
We begin to talk
Of the dreams we have
And the life we want.

There is an ease
With which we share
The passions of our hearts
And the longings of our minds.

Maybe tranquility brings contentment,
Or simply being together
Soothes our soul souls,
But in that moment we seek forever.

A Philosophy of Life

There is a philosophy of life
That I have come to believe
Which states that life is simple,
That there is nothing
Inherently difficult in life,
Except that thinking makes it so.

I seek the intrinsic simplicity
That I perceive to be there
In all that I do
And all that I see,
And question
Any difficulty that arises.

I have come to examine
The way I think
To get to the source
Of each obstacle
That I encounter,
Each challenge I face.

Even the most complicated system
At heart is simple
If I only understand
The mechanisms
By which it works,
Its laws of dynamics.

A human being is much the same,
Each a complex beast
Whose motivations I strain to comprehend,
Yet I hold that
These underlying principles are there too
Whether I see them or not.

When I take a project on
And challenges occur
I usually find
That the obstacle is me,
And only when I step out of the way,
Can I see how to get the job done.

I suppose if I were to put it simply,
There is a solution to every problem
Either under, over, around or through
That I can usually discover
If I don’t convince myself
Of the difficulty before I get there.

A Failure to Connect

It has been a long time now
Since we first started chatting,
And I feel that I have gotten
To know you rather well,
And I think of you as a friend,
Yet somehow I sense
The distance beginning to grow,
And it saddens me to think
That we may never meet
And find out whether
The compatibility was real.
Whatever the outcome,
I want you to know
How much I enjoyed
Your company.
I always looked forward
To finding you
Waiting on the Internet for me.
I guess that we
Just weren’t able to
Overcome the challenges of
Time, distance and life.
Even as we grow apart
And a melancholy sadness sets in,
I am glad I met you
For you have enriched my life!
Thank you girl!

A Difference of Culture

When I was growing up
Down in San Diego,
I lived on a big hill
Which was ideal
For go-carting.

It seemed like all the kids
In that neighborhood
Had homemade go-carts
And dangerous as it was,
We raced down that hill.

There was nothing fancy
About the rigs we built,
Just a piece of wood
On wheels
And a hand brake.

We would scavenge parts
From toys and bikes,
Wood from who knows where,
A few nails and bolts
And whatever else we could find.

Of course the object was
Not to use the brake
As we careened down the hill
At breakneck speed,
Dodging the occasional car.

I grew up with the thrill
Of that downhill run
And pleasure of go-carting.
I figured that kids anywhere
Instinctively know the purpose of a hill.

Years later while serving as
A Peace Corps Volunteer
In the South of Thailand
And I observed kids and hills
Without any go-karts.

I got this bright idea
About turning them on
To the age old sport,
So I got the parts
And put together a go-cart.

When I was a kid,
We had a pusher and a driver
And that was it,
But there they piled on
Ten or more kids on a single cart.

Kids would be falling off
Or being dragged along
As they raced down the hill
Skinning their knees
And tearing their clothes.

What I failed to realize
Was that the only way
They could narrow it down to two
Was to fight to see
Who those two would be.

No amount of coaching
Could teach them
The art of taking turns,
And the parents of the kids
Were ready to lynch me!





I eventually had to destroy that go-cart
For the good of the community
And that wasn’t the only thing
That I tried to do for the kids
Which didn’t go exactly as planned.

I noticed that a local grade school
Didn’t have a tetherball
And I remembered enjoying that as a kid
So I had one sent from the US
Which I installed at their school.

The same thing happened
Because ten or more
Could not play at once
And countless fights ensued
Necessitating its removal.

I wasn’t the only one
Frustrated by the culture.
There was an organization
Which paid to have American toilets
Installed in a number of schools.

Most of the schools
Fortunately kept them locked
So nobody could use them
Because nobody knew how!
The ones they used were flat on the floor.

Any toilets that weren’t locked
Always had footprints
From poor souls
Experimenting with
High altitude bombardment!

What became clear was that
The best of intentions
Will often go awry
Without a proper understanding
Of the differences of culture.

A Conversation for Possibility

Who among us
Is privy to the possibilities of life?
I am I say,
And so are you!
Possibility lives in our speaking!

We can envision a future
Free of whatever limitations
May have burdened us in the past,
Real or imagined,
And invent a whole new reality.

Possibility lives in our speaking,
And dies an untimely death
If kept inside our head.
Possibility is a conversation
And nothing more.

One of the most blatant examples
Of a possibility spoken
Creating a supporting reality
Was President John Kennedy’s proclamation
That we will land a person on the moon.

At the time the statement was made,
There was no supporting evidence
That it was technologically feasible,
But the possibility once spoken
Had a power all its own.

That possibility became the parent
Of a multitude
Of technological improvements
That were necessary
The make going to the moon a reality.

The movement to end world hunger
Was the direct result
Of the possibility spoken
That the world can feed itself,
That starvation doesn’t have to be.

Obviously starvation still remains,
But significant progress has been made
Over much of the globe
During the last decade,
And ending hunger remains a possibility.

The possibilities we declare
May not be so lofty
As the examples stated,
But they can still profoundly impact
The quality of our lives.

The world around us
Is not cast in stone or concrete
As it may sometimes appear,
And things don’t have to be
The way they currently are.

It is up to us
To invent the possibilities
That will shape our world
And give us
A world in which we want to live.

The Journey to Self Knowledge

I am someone
Who has seen
Good times and bad,
Times money flowed in,
Times when it flowed out,
Times I had friends
Times when I had not,
Times life was full of promise,
And times of little hope.
I tried on the idea
That those things
I have been through,
The experiences of my past,
Were who I am.
It was an idea
That didn’t really work
In my world.
When I was a teen,
Seemingly without experience,
It led me to believe
I was nothing.
When I was older,
It was a straight jacket
Which said I was doomed
To repeat the past.
It gave me no freedom
To experience being me,
Whoever that is.
I began to reason
The past is over and gone,
A mere residue in my mind,
That it is my mind itself
Which dictates who I am.
I toyed and toiled for a while
Contemplating my mind,
Fascinated with its intricacies,
Meditating and pondering
The question of who I am.
I witnessed others
Isolate themselves
On mountain tops
And other mystical places
Attempting to commune with God
In order to discover
Who they really are,
Or their true purpose in life,
But that didn’t appealed to me.
Besides, I never wanted
To live life alone.
My world is a world of people.
I noticed that others
Could often see things about me
I couldn’t see for myself.
It was like I had
A huge blind spot
When it came to me,
And I could easily see
Aspects of others
They couldn’t see
About themselves as well.
I came to the conclusion
Each person I meet
Is mirror reflecting,
Not the person I claim to be,
But who I really am,
The person I am trying
To get to know.

The Two Faces of Eve

I was cruising the Internet,
Talking on the chat lines,
Looking for old friends
When I came across a name
That intrigued me
So I dropped her a line.

She took my bait
And when she responded,
We did the usual thing,
Preliminary qualification,
Sex, age, location
And availability.

It didn’t take long to establish
That we at least had
Something in common
Which is a good place to start.
It was relatedness we sought,
A sense of intimacy.

She came on strong
And maybe a little fast.
I sent her my poems
And she sent me a picture
A little more revealing than most
Saying that was who she was!

I began to suspect
There was more to her
Than met the eye.
What I was looking for
Beyond that hard exterior
Was who she really was.

Thus we conversed about
What she really wanted in life,
Who she hoped to find
For I got that she was searching,
And how she hoped it would be
Once she found that guy.

Then I ask her
What it had been like so far
And what I heard was
Resignation and defeat,
A disappointment with life,
A deep pervasive sadness.

I came away with a sense
That somewhere below
That brash exterior
Lies a scared and lonely girl,
Not who she pretends to be,
But someone she wants no one to see.

It is one of the secrets of life
That you can’t find love on the outside
Until you find it on the inside,
And vulnerability is the key
To a relationship
That will set her free.

It is one of the paradoxes of life
That we build a façade
To protect us from hurt,
And it is the false show
That hurts us more than
Honesty and trust ever could.

Now I don’t know
If telling her this
Will help or hurt
But this is how
She occurred to me,
The two faces of Eve

The Twisted Finger of Fate

Sometimes we read of events
Half a planet away,
And as if by some strange
Stroke of intuition,
That incident registers in our brain.
Just before Christmas
A ferry sunk in the Philippines
With over seven hundred people
Crowded aboard,
Well in excess of the ship’s capacity.
Amongst all the tragedies,
Travesties and disasters
The newspaper proclaimed,
That single occurrence
Riveted my attention.
The ferry service initially reported
Six hundred ten passengers,
But after seven hundred and ten people
Were rescued from the water,
And thirty-three bodies were recovered.
The officially reported number
Is more than a little questionable.
It just so happens
That four of the people on that boat
Were personal friends of my wife
I found out later.
The body of one of her friends
Was recovered, however,
The three others are still missing.
More than likely,
The total number of people
Loaded on that ferry
Will never be known.
By what twist of fate,
Those four were on that boat,
I can only imagine.
Why the sinking of that boat
Registered in my brain initially
Can only be speculated.
Maybe it is all coincidence,
And maybe it is not.

The Thirteenth Girl

He was twenty-six years old
And had been a student
Virtually his entire life.
He came to the United States
To pursue graduate studies
In computer science,
But he had completed that
And a job offer brought him
To Southern California.
Now that he had a job
It occurred to him
That the time was right
To find a wife,
Settle down
And get a place of his own.
Having never been
On a date before,
Women were
An total mystery to him,
And he had no idea
How to talk to them,
What to say,
Or what to do with one
Once he found her.
Nevertheless,
His mind was set
On finding a mate.
Since he was a native of India,
A land where marriages
Are generally arranged,
Heading back home
Seemed the logical thing to do.
He presumed it would be easier
To find a suitable mate there,
But was in for a surprise.
He interviewed a few
Prospective brides,
But he was shocked to find
None of them were interested in him
And his chosen path in life.
Even in that part of the world
Women had a choice,
And that seemed to complicate things.
This process of finding a mate
Had turned into an ordeal,
Definitely more trouble
Than he had initially assumed.
He came back to the States
Empty handed,
But no less determined
To find a mate.
Once he got back,
He was confronted by challenges.
First, women of his race
Were decidedly fewer,
And far between
Here in this country,
And because his luck with them
Had been less than exemplary,
He decided to expand
The spectrum of women
He was willing to consider.
Second, and infinitely more problematic
Was that dating
Was an essential step
In getting to know a woman,
And he had still
Never been out on a date.
He asked a number of girls out
But each one turned him down
For one reason or another.
He rationalized the first few times
That it had nothing to do with him,
But after a while,
He began to wonder.
It seemed the ones he met
Weren’t interested in him.
Though his ego was bruised,
He persisted,
Determined to find
A girl for him
No matter what it took.
He was near despair,
When he asked
The thirteenth girl.
Much to his amazement,
She said yes,
And he was left clueless
What to say next,
Never having ventured that far
In any of his thinking.
The girl had to ask him
When and where!
He sought coaching
From the people he knew,
And the main thing he learned
Was not to take a date to
Burger King or McDonald’s.
He also heard women liked flowers,
So he picked up
One hundred roses
To give to the girl,
Having no idea
How many would be appropriate.
When the day came,
He still felt ill prepared.
He picked her up,
Then decided his car
Was much too dirty,
So the first place they went
Was to a car wash!
She chatted away,
Trying to break the ice
And get him
To relax a bit,
But he remained
Stone cold and silent,
Petrified by fear,
Unsure what to say.
Finally he apologized
Telling her he would likely be
A poor excuse for a date.
She snapped back
With an appropriate retort,
Informing him
She would have a great time
Whether he chose to or not.
That was precisely
What he needed to hear
And it loosened him up
So that he could enjoy himself.
That was six years ago.
They are still together today
Enjoying each other,
And laughing at the difficulty he had
In his efforts to find her.

The Power of Poetry

There is a piece of me
In each of my poems,
And if you receive enough of them
Then there I’ll be.

The poems come from the heart,
Addressing the common things,
At least common to me,
To which most can relate.

The comments I’ve heard
Have spurred me on
Encouraging me to share,
With everyone I meet.

There was a young girl
From the Philippines who wished
That her father would write
Some poetry too.

All that girl wanted
Was for her father to show
The love that was in his heart
And that is what poetry can do.

I think the response that touched me most
Came from a girl from the Middle East
Whose father died when she was young,
Who asked if she could be my daughter too.

Poetry has the power to bridge the gap
Of age, sex, race or creed
And gives each of us
A sense of our humanity.

The Observer

One of the most powerful tools
There for any of us to use
Are the services of an observer,
Someone not involved in our project,
But willing to listen
To the history of what
Has been done,
Our accomplishments to date,
And what is intended in the future.
That person, if we care to listen
Will often see something we never noticed
And point out where
We get in our own way.
They may see possibilities
We never imagined,
Assets we never knew we had,
Or maybe challenges
We didn’t know were there.
They serve to clarify our thinking,
To focus our thoughts,
Pointing out what is missing
And what needs to be done next.
Most of all,
They tend to
Empower us in our vision.

The Making of a Team

Sometimes in this old world,
It is the simplest things
That are the most difficult
For us to understand.

None of us have all that it takes.
Each of us has something to add,
Something of value to contribute,
A unique perspective.

Each of us is a key ingredient
To our overall success
If we could only define
The direction we want to head.

We are a team of people
Seeking a unity of purpose
And trying to achieve a sense of value
From the work we do.

Some of us are better at dealing
With the crisis at hand
While others of us
Are looking years ahead.

The visionaries among us
See a possibility of something big
And are frustrated with
The obstacles faced.

The realists among us
If guided by the intended goal
Plod ceaselessly step by step
Focused on the challenge at hand.



What usually is missing
Is the unity of a vision
That allows the visionary and the realist
To work together as a team.

We must each understand
That by working together we will win
And that by working apart
We will ultimately fail.

In our particular case
We have developed a product
Which we continue to improve
To establish its unique market appeal.

We have people concerned with design
And others with production
As well as quality control
And still others with shipping.

We have a sales team
Concerned with opening new accounts,
Servicing the ones we have
And building relationships that last.

We have accountants
Who try to figure out
Just what we have done
And whether we made a dime.

All are members of the team
Seeking to create something big
And if we work together
It just might actually happen.

The Making of a Team

Sometimes in this old world,
It is the simplest things
That are the most difficult
For us to understand.

None of us have all that it takes.
Each of us has something to add,
Something of value to contribute,
A unique perspective.

Each of us is a key ingredient
To our overall success
If we could only define
The direction we want to head.

We are a team of people
Seeking a unity of purpose
And trying to achieve a sense of value
From the work we do.

Some of us are better at dealing
With the crisis at hand
While others of us
Are looking years ahead.

The visionaries among us
See a possibility of something big
And are frustrated with
The obstacles faced.

The realists among us
If guided by the intended goal
Plod ceaselessly step by step
Focused on the challenge at hand.

What usually is missing
Is the unity of a vision
That allows the visionary and the realist
To work together as a team.

We must each understand
That by working together we will win
And that by working apart
We will ultimately fail.

In our particular case
We have developed a product
Which we continue to improve
To establish its unique market appeal.

We have people concerned with design
And others with production
As well as quality control
And still others with shipping.

We have a sales team
Concerned with opening new accounts,
Servicing the ones we have
And building relationships that last.

We have accountants
Who try to figure out
Just what we have done
And whether we made a dime.

All are members of the team
Seeking to create something big
And if we work together
It just might actually happen.

The Challenge of Being Human

The challenge of being human
Can stop us in our tracks
Every time we try to do
Anything that really counts.
It is a part of who we are,
The tendency to be small,
The sense of being overwhelmed,
Of simply feeling scared,
Thinking who am I to succeed,
Suffering procrastination constipation,
Amnesia and paralysis,
Just being uncomfortable,
Being disorganized and confused,
Not having enough time,
Or closing down
And not communicating
What needs to be said,
Complaining about
And judging what is
Rather than being at cause
In creating a change,
Taking it personal,
Taking offense,
Thinking it is all about us,
Comparisons,
Our worst against their best,
Letting “not wanting to do it” stop us,
Playing it safe
And being in control,
Being confronted,
Burdened by looking good,
It appearing to be
Just too much hard work,
Thinking we already have it made,
Deluding ourselves into complacency
Being out of integrity
Where our actions don’t fit our words,
Avoiding confrontation,
Fear of addressing the issues
And fear of failing,
Or simply looking silly,
That keeps us in our place,
Wondering, Wondering
How does anyone ever succeed?

In a Business of my Own

I have often asked myself,
“What do I really want to do
When I grow up?”
I figured out
A long time ago
That I need to be
In business for myself,
That I am ill-suited
For life in the corporate world.
Being in a business
Of my own a few times
Has taught me
A thing or two
About business,
But even more
About myself.
I saw how easy it is
To have the business own me
Versus me owning it.
I discovered I could be
The worst boss I ever had.
I learned to think of each employee
As a potential liability.
I began to hate overhead
And be absolutely miserly
In the way I spend money.
I found I have to be
Very focused
And on purpose
In order for a business
To succeed.
I have to know
What I am out to accomplish,
And the business
Must be aligned with my intent,
Or it won’t work.
I have learned that trust
Is essential,
But can easily be abused.
I learned that
Customer support is critical.
I learned
To seek out a niche
Where my business
And the services I offer
Can readily be distinguished
From the competition.
I figured out
It is one-thousand times easier
To be the leader in my field
Than a follower.
It is essential that the word
About my services
Gets out to potential clients,
But advertising costs
Can doom a business
Before it even begins.
I found for every
Ten customers I served well,
One additional person
Would hear about the services I offer,
But ten people
Will hear about
Each person I serve poorly.
I learned the value
Of having a mentor
Or a business coach,
Someone who could view things
From a different perspective
Than me,
And give me honest feedback
On what they see.
I also learned
That no coach could help me
If I am not willing
To help myself.
It seems most companies
Start out undercapitalized,
But that is seldom
What stops the action.
The real challenge
Is clarity of vision.
If the business plan is viable
And carefully thought out,
Then the money is available
To do what needs to be done.

The Roller Coaster Ride

My life has been
A pretty wild ride
Up to this point,
Subject to unpredictable
Twists and turns,
Ups and downs,
Ins and outs.
I was never content
To sit idly by
And let my life happen
Just by chance.
I tried to live
An extraordinary life,
And to a large degree
I succeeded.
I sought out opportunities
Wherever I could,
Took many risks,
Sometimes gambling
Everything I had
For the next chance,
And in a certain sense,
I have only just begun.
No one knows where
The roller coaster
Will take me next.

Sky Diving

It lasted but a moment,
Or maybe two.
I was literally
Head over heels excited,
Free falling through the air.
I was not quite sure
Of what to expect.
But thought to myself,
This is cool!
Darn it,
I forgot to look up
To see the plane
And others coming after me.
Then all too soon
We arched back
And the chute opened
Dramatically easing
Our speed of descent
Gauged by the wind
Now gently blowing past
And the rate of the ground
Coming towards me.
Stabilized,
I gazed in fascination
At the world below me,
Pinpointing the spot
Ten thousand feet below
Where I was headed.
Hey, This is FUN!
There was no sense of falling,
Just floating free
Turning to the right,
Then to the left.
I spotted birds
Gliding below
And thought to myself
This is what
It must be like for them
Looking down
On the world below.
Deciding where to land.
We practiced the stall
Then gently touched down
Feeling WOW!
I did it!
Then I gazed up
To see the others
Drifting down
Wondrously easy.
I said to myself,
I’ve got to do
That again.
I was hooked
On the feeling
Of diving out of a plane
And the experience of
Flying through the air.
It was great,
But over way too fast
For my adventurous spirit.

Sifting Through the Ashes

Their relationship was over
And he was left
Trying to figure out
What went wrong.
As time passed,
He began to unravel
Some of the mystery.
They had talked,
In fact they had great conversations
When they first started,
Or at least that is the way
They occurred to him.
He loved telling her about
All his frustrations,
His fears and challenges,
And enjoyed her soothing way
Of comforting him.
It had become a routine
For him to come home each evening
And express his troubles.
He had no idea
What the cost would ultimately be
Of the continuous dumping
Of his problems on her.
He had painted a picture of himself
In her mind over time
As someone weak and powerless
Against circumstances,
Clearly not the man
She thought she had married.
In her disillusionment
The distance between them grew
Until they were
Irrevocably separated.

Perfecting the Squeal

Anyone with young daughters
Will likely have
First hand experience
Observing their efforts at
Perfecting the squeal!
They work on it
Day and night,
Getting it just right,
Mastering the ear-piercing wail,
That bloodcurdling
High-pitched scream.
It comes so natural
And they are ruthless in its use.
A simple trip
To the grocery store
Becomes a major ordeal,
But any confined space will do
For them to practice their art.

Resistance to NO

Probably one of
The first words
I ever heard
As a child
Was a resounding
NO! NO!
Uttered by either
My mother or father.
It seemed like the world
Was full of things
That I couldn’t do
Or shouldn’t do,
But that didn’t stop me
From trying to
Do them anyway.
I was instinctually
Drawn to test the limits
And to ask why not.
It must be a genetic trait
Because I noticed
The same thing
To varying degrees
In each of my kids.
As I entered the university
I began to explore
The meaning of no,
And learned that it
Didn’t often stand up
To perseverance.
Even to this day,
I still take no
As a challenge
And resist it
With all my might.

Knowing Myself

I am compelled
To know myself,
If for no other reason
Than to be true
To that self.
I have found
Many things in life
To be in violation
Of who I am.
They are not
Necessarily wrong,
Just wrong for me,
I have been presented
With numerous opportunities
To make money,
Or to do things
Which seem inviting,
That also conflict with
My sense of self.
I have found
Whenever I do them anyway,
I suffer consequences
Far exceeding
Any benefit gained.
I came to the conclusion
That it wasn’t worth it
To do anything
That conflicts with
Who I am.

Integrity

How easily
We give our word,
We’ll do this
And we’ll do that,
But life intrudes
And we soon forget
The commitments we made.
We wonder why
No one believes
What we say,
Why no one
Takes us seriously
When we say
We are going to do something.
Our word is all we have,
It is who we are.
If we don’t value our word,
Why would anyone else?
Each time we say we will,
Then renege,
A bit of our credibility goes,
A piece of us dies.
Sometimes it seems
We assume
Those closest to us
Have the shortest
Memories of all,
That keeping our word
Doesn’t matter to them.
Integrity is having our actions
Fit the words we use
No matter who
We are dealing with.
The power in having integrity
Is that our word
Is as good as gold.
Wouldn’t this be
An absolutely amazing place
If each of us did
Exactly what we said?

Enrollment

If you want to enroll me
In what you are doing,
Or convince me
Of the validity
Of your cause,
Then you should
Refrain from doing
Any of the following,
Because these methods
Don’t work for me,
And probably not
For most others as well.
Imposing your view,
Controlling or trying
To dominate me
Will only generate
Anger and resentment.
Manipulation or
Any form of dishonesty
Such as false flattery
Will get you nowhere.
If you are only concerned
With your point of view,
And fail to pay me
The respect of listening
The what I have to say,
I am not going to listen
To you either.
If you imply that I am wrong,
Or insult my intelligence,
Be prepared for
A hostile reaction.
If you really don’t care,
Or have no real commitment,
To what you say you want,
You can forget the sale.
If you are unwilling
To communicate as equals,
Or pressure me for the sale,
I will turn my back
And bid you farewell.
If you lack integrity,
Or are stingy in any way,
You can forget doing
Business with me.
If you can’t be honest,
About who or what you are,
Don’t bother me
With your pitch.
If you are distracted,
And don’t pay attention,
Then I will ignore
You as well.
If you really want
Me to buy what
You are selling,
Start by establishing
Our relatedness.
Listen to my concerns,
Accept me as I am,
Act with respect,
And be authentic.
Show some excitement
And passion for
What you do.
If you are not sold on it,
The chances are
I won’t be either.
Just be straight,
And say what you mean,
And mean what you say.
Don’t make excuses.
Show that you care
Not only for the sale,
But for my situation as well.
Speak with compassion.
Share how you feel,
And show that you are real,
Be vulnerable,
Take a chance,
But respect my time,
And it is me
You will likely enroll.

Court Reporter

One of the toughest jobs
I can imagine
Is that of a Court Reporter.
They must listen to
And record every word
Spoken in trial after trial
Whether the words are rushed,
Garbled, whispered
Or mumbled.
They have to be able to
Repeat what ever has been said
Word for word.
They can’t let boredom
Or the tediousness
Of the trial process
Lull them to sleep
As it would do me.
They must be fully awake
And alert at all times,
Ready for whatever happens.

Clarity

I believe it is possible
To speak and write
Using simple, clear
And precise language,
With words
That unquestionably
Come from the heart,
In a way
That their meanings
Can’t be lost
Or misconstrued.
All too often
Our language conveys
Subtle cues
Read between the lines
That deliver
Another message entirely
Than the one we intend.
Often our judgments
Are heard
In the words we choose.
For our words
To hit their mark,
And not be clouded
By the prejudices we hold,
We need to be aware
Of the context
From which we speak.
Only in acceptance of others,
Can we get our message across.

Christmas in August

The previous Christmas had been one
They wished they all could forget.
The family got together,
But no one felt like celebrating.
Their mother had just been diagnosed
With incurable cancer,
And only had a short time to live.
Her oldest son
Had moped around
For months afterwards
Trying to come up with
An appropriate eulogy,
But mere words couldn’t express
The sorrow he felt.
Christmas was traditionally
The time each year
When the whole family gathered,
And the realization set in
That his mother would never see
Another Christmas.
Suddenly an idea occurred to him.
Why not bring Christmas
To his mother?
The biggest challenge he faced
Was finding an appropriate tree
In mid-August.
The family rallied to the cause,
And everyone came.
Each person got to say
What needed to be said
To acknowledge their matriarch
For who she had been for them.
The eulogy was delivered in person
So that she could have
The serenity and pleasure of knowing
How she would be remembered.
It was the best Christmas
The family ever had.